


Foreigner's God

by theimaginesyouneveraskedfor



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Sorceress, but now i'm thinking should go a little further if i wanna do it right, just kinda happening, servant - Freeform, so far i don't know where this is going, was gonna be one part
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-27
Updated: 2019-01-23
Packaged: 2019-07-18 06:49:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16113074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theimaginesyouneveraskedfor/pseuds/theimaginesyouneveraskedfor
Summary: The title is a reference to a Hozier song. This is a series which I'm kinda writing on my toes. It's a Loki-ish fic. Rating and warnings may change as it progresses.Summary: Ilona is a servant in Asgard. She notices something peculiar about the prince, Loki, who in turns notices something peculiar about her.





	1. Discernment

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so as I said, I'm just kinda writing this as it comes. The OC is driving me more than the plot and thus far I haven't decided if Loki is going to be more of a bastard or actually decent.
> 
> Any and all feedback/comments are appreciated and I thank anyone who takes the time to read this.

Ilona hated feasts. These nights the nobles lost all vestiges of propriety. Drinks spilled, bones tossed upon the floor, sops passed out against the table. Her own people had never acted so carelessly. Even those of privilege did not flaunt it so flagrantly. They respected their planet, the life it provided them with, and they gave back to it. In Asgard, all they did was take.

As she gathered up empty goblets atop her tray, she balanced on one foot, using the other to scratch her ankle. The ring wrapped around it had never grown comfortable. Even after centuries, it chafed her skin; a constant nuisance. She wished she could rip it off, melt it away from her flesh, but she had tried fruitlessly many times before.

She moved to the next table, plates piled crooked atop each other, food smeared across the tablecloth. It was late and many were so deep in their cups they did not notice the servants as they began to tidy. It was wise to begin before the festivities ended, elsewise they would be working well into the next day. 

Ilona turned, balancing the tray against her shoulder as she angled herself around tables and chair. In the kitchen, other servants were already scrubbing dishes. Empty wine casks were being rolled through the far door while ewers were filled from those freshly tapped. Della took the tray from her and handed her a jug full of deep red wine.

“Make another round,” She demanded, “The drunker they are, the sooner they leave.”

Ilona nodded and turned back through the door. She went along the closest table, filling only a few cups before she reached the end. She looked up and her eye was caught by a lone figure. He was surrounded by people but he did not engage with them. Those at the royal table were the most raucous of the crowd. All but the younger prince; Loki.  His arms were crossed and his green eyes stared grimly across the room. He was as still as a statue, barely bothered by his burly brother jostling against him as he leaned heavily in his chair. Ilona narrowed her eyes knowingly and wove her away around guest towards the royal table. She approached, holding out her jug as she neared.

“More wine, your grace?” He looked at her blankly, his green eyes hollow as they flicked away from her.

“No.” Was all he said and she nodded. His larger brother caught sight of her and halted her, “Wench, more wine!” He held out his cup and she filled it dutifully, taking care not to look at the more slender prince who did not move or appear at all disturbed by the boisterous god beside him.   She parted with a bow and shook her head. The prince was clever. If she hadn’t the anklet clasped above her foot, she’d have done the same. A glamour to sit through the chaos. A parlour trick but still amusing. She wondered what real trouble the prince was finding.

* * *

Ilona had spent most of her day in the kitchens. As the dinner hour approached, she was sent to fetch wine for the evening meal. She rolled an empty cart along the golden corridors; the deeper she got, the darker the stone. The wine cellar was well-used but rarely visited by any but servants. Why would any noble venture so far underground when they had others to do their bidding for them?

The large half circle doors were heavy but easy to open. Ilona used her back and pulled the cart after her as she entered backwards. She went along the shelves, pulling bottles of red and white with apathy. Local vintages were fine enough for an informal supper. Most nobles would be dining in private as no feast was scheduled that eve. And if they were not alone, they rarely let it be none for fear of courtly gossip.

A trickle whispered along Ilona’s spine as she reached for another bottle and resisted the urge to stop her work. She was not alone. She was unbothered by the presence, aware of the mask being used to conceal it. She could sense the intent. The want for mischief. They did not want to harm her, only to perturb her.

She finished filling the cart and made to push it back through the doors. She stopped short, the bottles clinking against each other dangerously as a figure appeared before her in a green flash. She watched him passively as he rested his hand on the other end of the cart, his emerald-like eyes staring back. The prince smirked as he reached out to grasp the neck of a single bottle.

“I’ll take that wine now,” He took the bottle and uncorked it swiftly, sniffing at the open neck, “You should’ve offered me white not red before.”

“I didn’t offer you anything,” She said evenly, “And if your spectre had accepted, he wouldn’t have imbibed in it anyhow.”

“How did you know?” He raised a brow. As he waited for her answer he drank from the bottle.

“A sober mind can see through any disguise,” She shrugged.

“A sober mind of a certain competence,” He slithered as he tilted his head, “Most servants haven’t the wherewithal to see past mere sleight of hand. You, however,” He gestured to her with the bottle before swigging once more, “You saw through my glamour from across the room.”

“So I did,” She confirmed, “Did I betray your trick? Did I call out your deceit? I did not so why is that you have followed me here?”

“If you knew I was here, why did you not say anything?”

“It is my duty to indulge the egos of royalty and nobility alike,” She said, “I would presume no authority over your person nor your personal entertainment.”

“A wise servant, but undisciplined,” He appraised, replacing the cork in the bottle and setting it back in its place upon the cart, “It is custom to address one of my stature with proper title.”

“Your grace,” She replied stoically, bowing her head slightly.

Loki’s eyes flickered and he lifted his chin as he considered her. He looked down his long nose at her as if he was trying to solve some cryptic riddle. The corners of his mouth twitched and he stepped away from the cart. “Go on then. You have tarried long enough in your duties.”

He was gone before she passed but she paid little heed to his dissipation. He was correct that she had spent far too long in the cellars. Della would surely remind her of it. Let the prince take it as a victory, she had little concern for his juvenile gimmicks.

* * *

The prince’s presence lingered in Ilona’s life. He must have known of her perception but she expected that was what he wanted. He seemed to take pleasure in trying to cause her discomfort. He had yet to be more bothersome than a housefly. She could easily ignore his little illusions; the shadows he sent along the corridor, the howls he set outside her chamber when she tried to sleep. She knew when he was watching her but she would not allow him to vex her.

Nonetheless, she was sleepless. In her small shared chamber, she laid awake. She had always suffered from insomnia, ever since she had been taken so far from home. Even so long after. She rose and pulled her wool shawl over her shift. She slipped her feet into her sandals and quietly neared the door, careful not to wake the other servants.

The corridor was chilly. The lower floors always were. She enjoyed the cold, it reminded her of the seasons of her home. She passed through the laundries where a few nighttime labourers carried on their steamy work and found the small door just beyond. It opened up to the night sky, the broad lip of the cliff where the washers hung clothing to dry. Sheets billowed in the wind as she walked between them, looking up at the half-crescent above.

She sat on a wide stump, stretching her legs before her. She liked this place. She came here when she needed peace. It was rare that servants went outside the confines of the palace; only during the summer festivals. She bent her left leg and scratched beneath the anklet with a sigh. She looked down at it with a grimace, holding it between her fingers as she felt the pulse of the metal.

“Well,” A repulsively familiar voice broke the silence, “That explains a lot.”

Ilona looked up at the silver limned shadow which stood behind one of the flailing sheets. She released the anklet and crossed her arms over her knees. She turned her face to the sky as she stared at the cratered moon. Its light felt warm across her skin though many would have said it was icy. The earth beneath her sandals lent its strength to her and she pushed back her shoulders, listening to the approach of her unwanted visitor. 

Loki was only a foot away when he stopped. Her shift was not long enough to hide her ankle and her shawl only reached her knees. Let him look. It had never been a secret. Surely the inky marking along her shoulders would have given her away as the wool had sagged from them. She pulled it up to hide her tattoos.

“You’re a sorceress,” He said, “How sad.”

She didn’t reply. Anything she said would only amuse him. 

“My mother crafted that bracelet,” He stepped closer, “To restrain your power. To keep you a servant to our kingdom.”

“She did,” Ilona confirmed, wanting to touch the anklet once more.

“Even so, you can sense my magick,” He continued, “That should not be. I’ve never seen any able to resist the binding.”

“No charm could keep my eyes from working,” She scowled, “I see the magick in all around me; the grasses, the trees, our guardian above,” She gestured to the moon, “Too think you are the only being which holds magick within is pompous. Delusional, even...your grace.”

“And my father took you from your home. Undoubtedly in one of his cruel campaigns. You must hate me for what they did to you.” He said. His sympathy was mocking.

“My hatred is only earned by one’s own deeds,” She looked at him at last, “Have you so quickly forgotten your own part in Vrajira? You and your brother led the charge.”

“Ah, a lone Vraji,” He smirked, “Your people are stubborn. Those who remain still hide their sacred stones from us.”

“You Asgardians are funny. You believe so willingly in the makebelief,” She chuckled under her breath, “You haven’t the depth for metaphors.”

His grin faded and his lips stiffened. “How sad an existence this must be for you,” He began solemnly. She could have laughed again at his feigned empathy. He was not skilled in that illusion. “A sorceress robbed of her powers, forced to serve her conquerors. In another life, we would have been bowed at your feet.”

“My people do not believe in subjugation to gain their power,” She clenched her jaw. She did not enjoy his taunting.

“And that is why you linger in such a lowly life,” He replied, “But I could make it slightly more bearable. Relieve you of such diminution.”

“If it is not to remove this,” She alluded to her anklet, “Than my life cannot be improved. Besides, I am not stupid. I know your ways, Prince. I know the Asgardian practice; nothing is given without a price.”

He scoffed and she felt his eyes upon her again. “I haven’t the authority to free you of your bounds, nor your status, but I can lessen your burdens.”

“I can bear them on my own,” She insisted.

“You could bear others easier,” He bent slightly over her; an unsubtle gesture of his authority over her. “I could spare you the rowdiness of the nobility; the tedium of the kitchens. All I ask is your service elsewhere; arrange my chamber, tend to my bedding, tidy up after my little messes, serve me my dinner. Would it not be easier to stomach one Asgardian over a whole kingdom?”

Ilona couldn’t help the venomous sneer with twisted her mouth. She hissed derisively in response. “I have known your former chambermaids, your grace. They serve beside me now. Servants haven’t much to talk about and little need for secrets.” She looked to him defiant, “I know what their duties entailed. That unchaste service you commanded of them.” She stood, nearly catching him off-balance as he moved to avoid her, “I prefer the kitchens.”  She walked past him as she pulled her shawl tighter to her. “Good night, your grace. I must rest for the morning’s chores.” As she continued beyond the wall of whirling sheets, caught in the nocturnal breeze, she could sense his displeasure. A green flash caught the corner of her eye but she did not look back. He was gone but she did not expect him to stay away.


	2. Restraint

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ilona continues to run into Loki.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve finally gotten back to this series so here’s part two. So yeah, with how it’s going, Loki is gonna be more of a butt in this series so don’t expect to like him. Comments and feedback are always appreciated, in fact, I am so thirsty for comments so please like, reblog, leave some wordage. Love.

Lightning spattered the afternoon sky; the clouds ominous grey despite the early hour. The rainstorm had carried on since dawn. Ilona didn’t mourn the bad weather for she rarely had the chance to go outside as it was. What she rued was how crowded the palace seemed when the nobles were imprisoned by the endless downpour. And all had the same want in these hours of gloom; tea.

Ilona was waiting for the brass kettle to tremble when Della noisily entered the kitchen, snorting at the line of used tea cups across the counter. She neared the open wood stove where the water began to boil and sneered across the kitchen as if the dozens of servants weren’t flurrying in endless labour. She stopped beside the dark-haired enchantress. Ilona’s bun was kept low to hide the tails of ink the stretched beyond the collar of her gown and her long sleeves helped conceal her blasphemous tattoos from the noble Adgardians. Della had made sure of it.

“The queen summons you,” She said. Her voice was both high and croaky at once. Her pinched nose sat between narrow set blue eyes faded by the years. Wrinkles crawled like spider legs along her lips and around her eyes. She snapped her fingers, signalling another servant to deal with the steaming kettle. “Be quick about it.”

“I’m sure Frigga won’t mind if I excuse myself on your behalf,” Ilona replied, “Why a queen hardly outranks a kitchen maid.”

Della scoffed. “Do not tarry as you have,” She warned but Ilona showed little recognition of her order.

She had not delayed her duties, she had merely been trying to ignore the ongoing subterfuge. Small things like the re-emergence of a pile of dust she had just dusted or a window opening anon whenever she closed it. She had determined that apathy was her only defense but that only brought upon censure from the kitchen maid.

“Vraji bitch,” Della remanded loud enough to be heard as Ilona head for the door. She cared little for the insult; she had grown use to them. She had been called worse.

Ilona’s trek to the queen’s chambers was undisturbed. Her path undisturbed. She walked as she always did; head held high though it added little to her stature. Short as she was, she was easy to miss among the naturally tall Adgardians. She preferred to go unnoticed. She paused just beyond the queen’s doors to glance out the window. The storm had calmed, droplets splashing against the glass pane as the sky was paint in streaks of ash. It was rare that the sun didn’t shine on this land.

She carried on, knowing that her visit was best kept prompt. They always were. Frigga attended to her business without fanfare, turning to more interesting ventures instead. 

Ilona stood before the large door inlaid with golden scenes of lovers. She knocked, waiting for a response from within. Another servant, this one wearing the white sash which marked her as solely loyal to the queen herself, answered the door. Each royal had their personal attendants marked by coloured sashes according to master. Common servants like Ilona wore only plain beige gowns and brown aprons.

“The queen is in her parlour,” The maid indicated as she led Ilona through the receiving hall. The ceiling above was painted with scenes of each season, the forestry turning from lush greens, to rusty oranges, and finally to barren browns draped in ivory. Animals frolicked while others hid in the shadows. It was of the few pieces in Asgard that she admired.

To the left, the parlour doors stood open. Inside, a marble floor of azure and a plain white ceiling capped in a silver dome. The curtains were a deep cerulean, often matching the sky without. Sofas, chaises, and armchair were arranged for her visitors and a table was lined with upholstered chairs for those nights when meals were more formal. Frigga only had one guest this day and the dark head need not turn to face Ilona to be recognized.

Loki sat lazily across a chaise, leaning against the arm as he read from a book. Frigga was sat in the armchair to the right of the prince, sewing and humming peacefully. Her blue eyes flicked to the door as she sensed the servant’s arrival and she set aside her crafting. Her son did not react to her sudden changed and she waved her newest visitor closer.

“Ilona,” She greeted her by name. The servant kept her face placid. This queen who had ensnared her would treat her as a friend. Without this wretched cuff, Ilona would easily out magick the Asgardian. “Please, sit. Loki, do straighten up and give her some room.” She ordered her son, who obeyed but did not remove his eyes from the pages of his book.

Frigga motioned for the servant to sit beside her son and patted the ottoman on which she had formerly rested her feet. Ilona set her foot atop it without a word, the cuff seeming to glow as it was revealed from beneath her skirts. Despite his apparent disinterest, the servant could sense Loki’s intrigue. He was minding her every move though he refused to acknowledge her.

“Ahhh,” Frigga bent over her leg and examined the cuff. She touched it with her finger and pulled back sharply. If she were mortal, it would have burned her flesh. “I was wise to summon you this day.” She commented as she turned to open the small drawer in the side table on the other side of her chair.

She pulled out a small metal rod and waved it around the anklet, ribbons of glittering smoke circling it. Ilona sensed the movement beside her. From the corner of her eye she could see that Loki had lowered his book and was watching the scene before him. Frigga slowly rescinded the small rod and stood, careful as she neared the mantel on the far wall. There, stood a row of jars, each one filled with swirling clouds. She made to insert the metal into the glass when the smoke suddenly dispersed into the air, disappearing into the void.

“Mmm,” She grumbled with the usual disappointment, “One day I shall find a jar which can contain such fine magick.” She lamented, setting aside the rod. Ilona hid her disdain. There was not but her own body that could harbour her powers for they were not solely hers but came to her from the land, the sea, and the stars. Frigga had her illusions, her poached tricks, but she could not divine the secrets of the Vraji.

“Would you like a biscuit? Perhaps some cake?” She offered as she neared the coffee that served as the centerpiece among the cushioned seats.

“No, thank you,” Ilona stood. Loki’s eyes lingered on her. Her sharp eyes caught the green aura which had spread across the room; searching. He was trying to find her magick but it had already returned to whence it came. Back to the universe. “May I return to my work, your grace?”

“You may,” She nodded, turning back to look at the jars with hands on hips.

This goddess was just like her husband. She took all through conquest and yet acted the benevolent seer. A slice of cake was no fair price for the essence of others. Ilona bowed and turned to the door, doing her best to mimic Loki’s initial ambivalence as she left.

* * *

 

The porcelain cups clinked as Ilona pushed the cart along the stone floor. The teacups were kept in a closet on a higher level of the palace to keep them from wearing in the damp chill of the basements. Freshly cleaned and carefully dried, they were ready to be put away after a long day of brunches, lunches, and suppers.

A single red cup flew from the cart without cause; no jostle or bump could explain the sudden movement. Ilona halted and tried to reach the porcelain before it could fall. Instead, she nearly collided with another, stopping herself before her face met the green brocade stretched across Loki’s chest. She stood back as he raised the red cup in his hand and admired the golden rim.

“This is Thor’s favourite,” He mused, “My mother had it made for him. Only he uses it...but I assume you know that considering your position. You must know every cup in the bunch.” Ilona remained silent, watching the prince as he tried to irk her. He smirked and replaced the cup on the cart. “It must take no less than an hour to put all these away. Such tedious work. Especially for one who has tasted the simpleness of magick.”

“I never wasted my magick on such foolishness,” She replaced her hands on the cart, ready to push past him but he stepped in front of it before she could move.

“That cuff,” He raised a brow, “It can barely contain you. My mother has never known a magick she could not tame.”

“Her magick,  _your_ magick, is frivolous,” Ilona asserted, “It is easily acquired by those who seek to deceive. Mine is only understood by those it chooses. This realm may own my body, but it can never possess that which belongs to Vrajira.”

Loki tilted his head. “If you can learn to correct that tongue, my offer stands.”

“I am content in the kitchens,” She said, “Your majesty.”

She lightly inched the cart forward, waiting for him to move. He stepped aside to her surprise but stood close enough that her arm brushed against him when she passed. He stilled her with a hand on her elbow, leaning down to whisper in her ear. “For now.”

He backed away, watching her as she went until she turned the corner. She knew he was still there. She sensed him hidden in the shadows. Even as she reached the cupboard where the cups were stored, she felt him observing her. It had come to be a familiar sensation, though no less unwelcome.


	3. Persistence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is pretty much the only thing I have to post right now. I’m super busy with my work so hopefully this can tide people over even if no one seems to be reading this series. Perhaps it will pick up from here. Anyways, comments and feedback are appreciated, as always. And I hope you all enjoy. <3

It had been a week since Ilona had met with Frigga. She sat on the small cot she was allowed as a servant and scratched at the cuff around her ankle. The room was filled with quiet snores and a few rumbling roars. The breaths of the sleeping all blurred together but she wasn’t one of them. She was awake. And alert. And not because she wanted to be, because someone else did.

She was tired. Not just because of her inherent insomnia from being trapped so far from her true home, nor the fact that she was _still_ awake. Perhaps a better word was exasperatd. If she could say anything of Loki, it was that he was indeed skilled at being the trickster he claimed to be. At first, it was simple enough to ignore his little tricks; the small messes, the random footsteps behind her when no one was around, the whispers from every crack and crevice. But now he was everywhere; watching and waiting. That he was getting to her made her suffering all the worse.

“One night of peace,” She spoke to the dark, “That’s all I ask.”

No answer sounded but she hadn’t expected one. She tried to see through the shadows but she was hindered by the anklet. She huffed and stood, storming to the door in her thin nightgown. She whisked into the hallway, a subtle wind flitting out with her and she set off down the corridor. He had followed her out of the sleeping chambers, she knew. She couldn’t stand it. She was always one who was straight to the point and this game was getting old.

She headed towards the tall window at the end of the next corridor. There she could at least gaze up at the moon; clear her mind. She needed to steady herself and moonlight was healing. She leaned on the window sill, the silver rays embracing her pleasantly. She didn’t know how it limned her figure through the thin cotton of her sleeping gown. She was thick and shapely unlike these waifish Asgardians.

A shadow loomed to her left and turned flesh in the eerie night light. She looked over as Loki smirked down at her. She glared at him, pulling her long braid over her shoulder as she turned her attention back to the window. She felt his warmth closer to her as he inhaled her scent, his nose brushing the top of her head. If she were not restrained, she would have had him by his throat already.

“How many times must I tell you no?” She growled.

“Until you say yes,” He slithered. “How long can you hold out without your magick? Is it not tortuous to be able to see it but have no defense against it?” She stayed silent, leaning out the window further, her elbows in the stone window pane. “Even just a little bit? Just enough to close a door without rising or warm the kettle without a flame. Even just for an hour of sleep?”

“I want nothing but your absence,” She sighed.

“It is not a trick. I could request of my mother that your restraint be lessened. Your magick would still be dampened but you would be allowed more than you have now,” He was behind her, he was trying not to touch her. It was as if he was waiting to cross that line until it would truly affect her.

“Do you expect me to believe that you would restore any magick to me? Do you think me naive enough to believe any of your words, Loki Laufeyson?” She challenged, standing upright and turning on him only to find him already closing in. His hands were on either side of the window frame and he leaned in so that the moon outlined his features.

“I will only make this offer once,” He said in a low voice. “Refuse and that’s it. When you are mine, you will be as powerless as you are in this very moment.”

“Yours?” She scoffed. “I belong to no one.”

“You belong to the crown of Asgard.” He retorted, “Naturally, ownership would pass to a prince. A birthright, if you will.”

Her nonchalance wavered and her heart sank. She knew where she stood in this life but Loki made it ever more obvious. She had minded her own business, done her work, kept her mouth firmly sealed. She had done everything to avoid attention and yet she had drawn the eye of the most venomous snake in the garden.

“My answer remains the same,” She stated, waiting for him to move from her path. “I should like to sleep now, if that is all.”

“I didn’t dismiss you,” He said sharply. He stared her down, growing frustrated as she refused to flinch. He pushed himself away from her and huffed. “Very well, go on. Go lay in the dark.” He waved her away as he turned his back to her. “Oh and,” He looked over his shoulder, “The next time you fail to address me by my proper title, I will make sure you are adequately punished for the offense.”

Loki stepped away, fading into the dark with a green puff. Ilona’s cuff trembled against her ankle as her magick seethed and flared against its restraint. The moon had refreshed her strength and she was ready for a new day. She would not give up so easily.

* * *

Ilona had spent hours scrubbing the kitchen floors. Dirt had caked along her fingernails and her apron was streaked with grime. The duty was thrust upon her not so spontaneously by Della who was eager to reassert her superiority. Every servant had their turn at the mercy of her spite. Every one made to suffer for one slight or the other; imagined or otherwise.

All but the dishwashers had left before Ilona finished her task, having to work around the feet of the other servants. She stood, gripping her broad hips and stretching her lower back. She lifted the bucket of dirty water, draping the filthy rage over its brim and taking the mop in her other hand. She said her good nights to the few servants still at their work and they parroted her nicety as she neared the wide door.

It was late enough that the castle felt near empty. The nobles had retreated to their private chambers, alone or not, and only a few personal servants ventured the hallways on their masters latest request. Ilona was careful not to spill the water as she traversed the stone floor, the stairs a challenge in themselves.

Below, she found the small round door used only by those of her status. She pushed it open and dumped her pail into the muddy pit. A hidden deformity of Asgard; wet dirty twisting every downward, swallowing whatever met its depths. A sign of magick misused. Some ancient spell miscast and hidden by the royal architecture.

Ilona rinsed her bucket and mop in the laundries and replaced them in the cupboard which held dozen of wooden vessels and their lanky companions. She stretched her moisture-wrinkled fingers as she walked along the shadowed corridor, holding back a yawn. Her nocturnal habits had not improved and she expected little sleep. A shower would at least be a reprieve.

The servants showers, like their chambers, the kitchens, and the laundries, were held in the lower levels of the palace. At this hour, they were abandoned. They would be busier come the first light when all prepared for their daily toil. Brass spouts were set into the stone walls, no dividers to shield one from their neighbour. Servants had little want for privacy; few had ever known that privilege.

The showers were uncanny at this time of night. She had rarely been there when they were not filled with steam and bodies; voices bouncing from the stone in a cacophony. Ilona untied her apron, hanging it in the small room at the east of the showers. Hooks lined the wall and benches filled the space, vacant of the usual crowds.

She slowly unlaced her gown, tugging at it over her shoulders awkwardly as it loosened enough to slip past her hips. She stepped out of the dusty beige garment and added her shift to the bunch. She left her shoes below the bench and tucked her stockings inside. She untied her hair, letting the loose waves spill down to her bottom as she passed through the door frame into the washing chamber itself.

She liked being here alone. There were no one else to stare at her tattoos and whisper. She didn’t mind their judging but she detested their endless gaping. They couldn’t seem to fathom the inky raven nestled just over her cleavage, wings spread across her collarbones, reaching to her shoulders. Down her arms flew loose feathers into winding vines and foliage, thorns and thistle intertwined. These pattern continued all the way around her neck and the top of her shoulder blades, with critters hidden behind the greenery. A forest sewn into her skin.

She neared a spout and twisted the faucet until the water spilled forth. At first it was cold to her skin; rousing, but it quickly turned hot. Steam rose around her in a column as she faced the fountainhead, the water soaking into her thick tresses. She scrubbed at her scalp, reaching for the vial of oil upon the showers ledge. She spread it over her hair and rinsed it thoroughly.

Next she took the small tin of scrub; an assortment of honey and oil. She closed her eyes as she turned her back to the shower, letting the hot water rinse away the remnants of the wash. She wiped away the water from her eyes, opening them to a shadow along the far wall. If she were foolish, she would cover herself, gasp, and shy away, but she knew it was a game.

Loki’s green eyes glowed, coming clearer from the dark as he neared her, unashamed of his imposition. She continued to cleanse herself as if he was not watching her, wasn’t slowly closing in on her. He stopped only a foot away from her, smirking as he took in her nudity. His eyes lingered on the tattoos which marked her rich skin, tauntingly descending lower as if daring her to shield herself. He sighed as he took in the swell of her chest, the curve of her waist, the plumpness of her thighs. She held in the shudder which threatened, turning to stem the flow of water.

She reached for the towel awaiting her along the metal bar but a pale hand stilled her own. Loki was almost flush to her naked back, holding her in place with his shadow. Close enough without truly being against her. “Ilona,” He greeted. It was almost a threat.

“Your majesty,” She recalled his previous warning. He relinquished his hand and stepped away, pleased by her recollection. She wrapped herself in the towel, but kept herself from rushing. “Forgive me, I am ill-prepared to receive a prince.”

She twisted her long locks a little at a time as she turned to look at him. He reached out to touch a strand, exploring the length with his fingers. He inhaled deeply and let go of her hair. “You’ve received me just fine.” He grinned, “You even cleaned yourself up…just for me.”

Ilona couldn’t help the curl of her lips at his words. She steeled herself as his fingers settled on the lines of her tattoo, tracing the winds of the bird. “My father always favoured ravens. Smart birds,” He commented, “Clever…vengeful. My mother is wise to keep you restrained. I see that loathing in your eyes. You hate us, don’t you? What we did to your home.”

She blinked at him, taking his hand from her collarbone boldly, turning it so that she could see his palm. “A trickster you are,” She traced the first line, “But you cannot hide who you truly are. This break, signifies insecurity, this one uncertainty, and this,” She ran her thumb along the pad below his thumb, “A lack of purpose. What could one expect of a second son.”

Loki snatched away his hand, snarling as he turned away from her. She waited for the tempest to begin but the prince merely lowered his head and clasped his hands behind his back. He swirled back to her, a smirk once more upon his lips. “A marvelous trick you have there. The next time my mother is seeking entertainment for her ladies, I should recommend you.”

“Your majesty,” She quelled the tide rising within her.  _Why should he vex her so much?_

He chuckled and stepped closer once more. “Do not worry, sorceress, I haven’t come to take you just yet. Not until you’re all  _mine_.” He leaned down, his hand cradling her chin as he ran his nose along her cheekbone, lowering his voice, “And you _will_ be mine.”

He was gone then. Leaving his sentence hanging before her in the fading steam. She hugged her towel tighter to her body as goosebumps formed along her naked flesh. She should have ignored him that night at the feast, as he had intended for all to do. Shouldn’t have been so forward as to confront his glamour. She had unwittingly turned the trickster’s eye upon herself.


	4. Subversion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki makes his first move.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still working so here’s another chapter if anyone’s reading :) As always, comments, questions, anything is loved!

The last few days had been uneventful. The tedium worried Ilona as she knew that the prince would not have forgotten his promise, he was merely biding his time; machinating. She tried to keep him from her mind knowing to do so was to welcome his mischief. It only gave him the gratification he was so desperately seeking. 

So it was that she stood in the palace kitchen, peeling potatoes as she waited for sky to fall. The starch covered her hands as she tossed a skin into the pail. Another servant, Gale, helped her in her work, though both did so silently. The hum of voices throughout the kitchen gave little need for conversation. Besides, Della was always timely enough insofar that she could rebuke the Vraji servant.

When she finished the task, Ilona was due to visit Frigga again. The cuff had chafed quite a bit in the last week and the release of magic would help. She didn’t relish the fact that the queen still tried to tame it but Frigga also didn’t realize she was helping Ilona. The pent up magick trail around her was unnatural; it clouded her mind and senses. Made her weak to the tricks of others.

When she at last had peeled the last spud, she tossed it in one of the large bowls and looked to Gale who stared at the yet to be diced veggies. “I’ll cover you dish washing shift,” Ilona offered, “I’m afraid, however, I must see the queen before long.”

“Can’t say no to that,” Gale chimed, “Chopping potatoes is nothing to scrubbing away the scraps of--”

A rise of voices interrupted Gale, and Ilona turned as the rabble grew nearer to the kitchen. Della’s voice was shrill as she fell into her usual reproach and a skinny blond appeared in the doorway skin ashen and eyes glassy. She stumbled inside as the head kitchen maid followed her. The thin servant leaned against the counter not far from Ilona and Gale, holding her hand to her chest.

It took a moment for Ilona to understand the scene before her. The blonde servant wore the green sash of the younger prince, but the beige dress beneath was stained in scarlet drops. The hand she hugged to her was bundled in a bloody handkerchief; the cause of her hazy state. “I swear, I d-didn’t do it.” She stuttered.

“You dumb girl. You’re lucky the king only took your finger,” Della hissed, “Stealing from the prince!”

“I didn’t steal,” The girl pleaded, “Please. You can’t send me away. I have nowhere else to go. No one else will hire me.”

“Brothels are not so picky,” Della sneered.

“The girl’s already lost a digit,” Ilona interjected, “I think she’s learned her lesson.” She came up beside the thin servant, “Let me see the finger.” The girl shook her head fearfully. “If you don’t, you’ll soon pass out from loss of blood.”

Ilona held out her hand and waited. Slowly the girl reached out, revealing the missing ring finger on her right hand. “What is your name?”

“Doesn’t matter what her name is, she’s a thief. I’ll not have her in the kitchens.” Della snapped.

“They’ll take her in the laundries,” Ilona assured. They were always in need of washers. “Now, tell me your name.”

“Lora,” She answered shakily as Ilona examined her hand.

“Gale,” She nodded to the other servant, “Get an iron spatula and heat it over the fire.”

“What are you doing?” Lora squealed, trying to pull away.

“Saving your hand. Even your life,” Ilona replied, “It’ll hurt but it is better than an infection. We must close this before you lose any more blood. Keep pressure on it.”

Ilona moved away from the girl, disappearing into the pantry before returning with a bottle of sherry. She poured a snifter for Lora and bid her drink, which she did thankfully. Gale appeared with the red hot utensil and Ilona took the girl’s hand, pressing it to the iron as she was distracted. Lora screamed as the flesh cauterized and Ilona released her, holding her shoulders so that she did not fall over from pain.

“Shh, shh,” She comforted Lora, “It hurts now but it will fade.” She sighed, glancing over at Della who was thoroughly unimpressed by the scene. “I’m sorry. It was the only way.”

Tears streamed down the girl’s cheeks and she sniffed. “I know,” She said quietly. “I didn’t steal, I swear it.”

“Be that as it may, you still have your head. Go to the laundries and ask Eida if she has a position for you. She can’t say no to an extra laundress,” Ilona offered her another sip of sherry before sending her off with a squeeze of her elbow.

“You no authority to overrule me,” Della snarled.

“I didn’t overrule you. You are the kitchen maid, not the palace marm. The girl would have been dismissed directly by the king if it was called for. She’s suffered enough.” Ilona wiped up the blood left behind by the girl and rinsed her hands in a basin, drying them on her apron. “I must go, the  _actual_  queen is awaiting me.”

Della huffed in disbelief. The look on her face was enough for Ilona though she didn’t show her pleasure. The kitchen maid acted as if she alone wore the crown of Asgard and hated when any dared to remind her of her true status. She despised more that the Vraji servant was unconcerned with such matters and that her venom often had no effect.

Ilona walked her usual path to the queen’s chambers. She did not stop as she had realized that only invited her pursuant closer. Yet she didn’t sense him, not until she reached the last corridor. She had learned not to let on when she felt him close, it only lured him nearer. When she raised her hand to knock on Frigga’s door, she knew he was waiting within.

Welcomed as she was last time, she followed Frigga’s personal servant to the next chamber. Frigga was in the same chair but Loki was not so relaxed. He stood with his back to the room before the fireplace. His hands were clasped behind his back as he stared into the flames. Despite his nonchalance, he had been expecting her.

“Ah, Ilona, timely as ever,” Frigga rose to greet her, “Please, sit.”

“Your majesty,” Ilona ignored the prince and sat, raising her leg as the queen bid as she retrieved her tools.

“We shall try a new method,” Frigga set out a crystal jar on the table next to her chair, but this time produced a metal tool resembling a tuning fork. Bending to examine the anklet before commencing her efforts and resuming her former conversation with her son. “Do not fret, Loki,” She said over her shoulder as she collected the aura from around Ilona’s leg, “You will find an attendant you can trust. The girl was young; she did not think.”

Frigga pulled back, carefully taking the crystal vessel and lowering the prongs of the fork inside. The magick swirled as she fastidiously removed the utensil, her blue eyes glowing at the jar. Alas, as she reached for the lid, the crystal cracked end the translucent vapours dispersed from within. She had once more failed.

“Gods,” She swore as she stood, hands on hips as she looked Ilona up and down. She tilted her head slightly and raised a brow. “Say, there might be a solution to your problem right before us, Loki.” Ilona stiffened, trying her best not to show it. “Ilona here is a kitchen servant but I’m certain she could easily take the place of a chambermaid. She might be Vraji but she is dutiful.”

The prince turned slowly. He feigned doubt as he looked from his mother to the servant sat on the sofa. He shook his head and turned his hands out helplessly. “Really, Mother, I don’t think I should take on just any servant.”

“She’s not just any servant, my son. And besides, it would do her well to be near magick more often. She is attuned to it.” She preened as she stepped closer to her son, “And perhaps, you could help me decipher hers.”

“Your grace,” Ilona stood sharply, “With all due respect, I am a kitchen servant and I am needed there. I should be going as it were.”

“They can wait,” Frigga waved away the argument, “You are free to choose your own attendant, but I merely thought it an easy solution.”

“Hmm,” Loki blinked, rubbing his chin as if considering.

Ilona knew he had already decided. It was simple enough to guess that he had chosen to have this conversation just as she was expected to arrive. It was an expertly contrived scheme and his dear mother loved him too much to suspect him. 

“I cannot wait around for days without a chambermaid.” He sighed, “I trust your judgment, Mother.”

“Marvelous,” Frigga sang as she turned to the servant, “Consider this your reward, Ilona, for your years of compliance.”  _Years of misery_ , Ilona thought to herself. Were it not for similar misfortune, she’d not have fallen so easily to the Asgardian charlatans.

Ilona kept her face placid and bowed her head. “Thank you, your grace. Should I inform the kitchen maid at least?”

“Of course, carry on in your duties for the time being. Tomorrow morning shall mark the beginning of your new position.” She smiled at the servant, “It is a great honour; Non-Asgardians are not oft chosen as royal servants.”

With that, Frigga dismissed the servant and knelt to examine the cracked jar, tossing aside the tuning fork with a quiet curse. Loki caught Ilona’s eye before she could turn away and he smirked. She made for the door before he got the best of her, remembering Lora’s missing finger. She wasn’t so eager to find out the punishment for assaulting a prince.


End file.
